


Suspect

by wendymr



Series: Beg Forgiveness, Not Permission [1]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Episode adaptation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 19:58:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I'm very sorry, sir, but there are some questions I need to ask."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Lewis Summer Challenge 2012 event on the LJ comm lewis_challenge, and with excellent BR services by Lindenharp - obviously all errors remain mine.
> 
> This is an alternate version of part of _Old, Unhappy, Far Off Things_ , based on a 'what if?' premise which occurred to me when I started thinking about the fact that Lewis was the last known person to see one of the victims alive.  
> 

Robbie takes a step backwards, shifting his gaze from the body in front of him, and from Laura Hobson’s too-keen gaze.

Ali, dead. It doesn’t make sense. Who’d want to kill a _boat-builder_ , of all people? And so viciously, too. 

Robbie shivers, and it’s got nothing to do with the coldness of the early December morning.

James is waiting near the open doorway, head bowed respectfully, though he glances up as Robbie approaches. By this stage at a murder scene, James usually has several things to report, so it’s a surprise when he doesn’t immediately speak.

“Well?” Robbie barks, immediately wincing inwardly at his tone. Damn. He already owes Laura an apology; now his sergeant too. “James,” he adds in a more normal tone, meeting the bloke’s gaze. 

“I’m very sorry, sir,” James begins, and his tone is very formal, which sets all of Robbie’s instincts on edge. He’s not offering his sympathies on Ali’s death, that’s clear. “But there are some questions I need to ask. First of all,” he continues before Robbie can say a word, “what time did you leave Ms McLennan yesterday evening?”

Bloody hell! That’s the way James speaks to a possible suspect. He can’t possibly imagine – that’s fucking offensive. “Is that any of your business, Sergeant?”

“Sir.” James’s tone is apologetic but firm. “I’m afraid it is.”

His response is the kind of freezing glare that normally makes James either apologise or find something urgent that he’s required to do elsewhere. But even that doesn’t work. “Sir, Dr Hobson has estimated the time of death at between two and four this morning. I need to work back from there, and at this point all I know is that you were with the deceased yesterday evening.”

 _I_. Not _we_. 

“Ali,” he corrects sharply. “Her name was Ali McLennan. And...” He trails off. Bugger. Obviously Ali’s murder’s messed with his head; he’s not thinking straight. “Oh, shit, I was probably the last to see her alive, wasn’t I?”

“Except for her murderer.” Robbie draws his brows together, giving James a questioning look. “I hope you didn’t imagine I suspected you?”

“You can’t assume anything.” He sighs. “I went straight home. And o’ course nobody saw me, unless you happen to find me on CCTV. Not many cameras around here, though, or near my flat. I don’t have an alibi. You have to consider me a suspect.” He paces up and down. “We’ll have to talk to Innocent. I’m off the case, obviously. But I’d like you to stay on it, if possible.”

James looks surprised. “I’m not sure I could be. It’d be seen as a conflict of interest, wouldn’t it? I’m hardly going to look to prove you did it.”

Robbie raises an eyebrow. “I’d hope you’ll look to prove I didn’t.”

“Naturally. Don’t need to be on the case to do that, though it’s true it would be easier.”

“Yeah. But that’s not why I want you on it.” James quirks an eyebrow. “Want it done properly, don’t I? I want the bastard who did this found. You’re the only copper I trust to do it right, besides meself.”

For an instant, James looks taken aback – what, surprised that Robbie has that much faith in him? But that’s ridiculous. The bloke’s the most thorough investigator Robbie knows. Oh, he doesn’t catch everything, and he doesn’t always make the right connections immediately – that’s how they complement each other – but he’s persistent and capable and the only detective Robbie’d want to have on a case like this if he can’t be on it himself.

“I’ll do my best, sir,” James says after a moment. “And, yes, I will need to interview you. At least some preliminaries, for now.” 

Robbie glances around. The boatyard office is over there – no, that’ll have to be searched, and as a possible suspect he can’t go anywhere near there. “My car,” he says, nodding in the direction of his Insignia. James nods once in response and follows him, hands buried deep in the pockets of his overcoat.

He waits until James is sitting beside him before speaking. “Last night, we went for a drink. Well, more than one. We were at the Barge’s Rest – Ali’s choice, it’s walking distance from here. She lives – _lived_ ,” he corrects with a grimace, “in a flat above the office. We had...” He pauses to think. “Well, I had two pints – all I could have if I was driving. Switched to orange juice after that. Ali was drinking wine, and she had more than me. Maybe five glasses? She was definitely a bit tipsy when we left. Not plastered, but enough to – well.” He scrubs his face, remembering her flirting and the kiss. Definitely something she wouldn’t have done sober – or, at least, he doesn’t think so.

But then maybe he didn’t know Ali as well as he thought he did. What she told him about why she resigned from the force... Had to have been something serious for demotion to be in the picture. Hardly just a bit of banter. Course, the force takes racism very seriously, but demotion just for one stupid comment? There must have been a lot more to it. Ali’s own body language told him as much, though he’d decided not to pursue it. What was the point? He was supposed to be having a drink with an old friend, not interrogating her. 

So maybe she had a habit of upsetting people? Could that be what got her killed?

“Sir?” 

He shakes himself and turns back to James. “Sorry. Was thinking. Right. Anyway, must’ve been close to eleven when we left. She wanted one last drink, but I made me excuses – getting late, work this morning. We walked across the bridge, said goodnight, an’ she went off down the towpath. I walked back to me car – car park’s in the opposite direction.”

James nods. “I know the layout.”

“Right.” 

“Did anyone else see you leave?”

He pauses to think, casting his mind back to their surroundings: the bridge, the water, the dark path, the trees. “No. It was quiet. Pub’d been almost empty all night.”

“Okay.” James writes that down. Throughout, he’s been the consummate professional copper interviewing a witness: non-judgemental, matter-of-fact, giving nothing away. He wants to shake the bloke and ask him what he’s thinking, but he can’t. James is just doing his job, after all, and Robbie’s fortunate that it’s him doing it and not someone else.

Robbie takes a deep breath. “Anything else you need to know?”

James is scribbling in his notebook, avoiding Robbie’s gaze – deliberately or not, he’s not sure. “I realise it’s been a while since you’d seen her – well, at least I’m assuming-”

“It was. We were on the Chloe Brooks case – she’d been my bagman around two years by then – and then I got the news about Val.” Miraculously, he manages to continue without faltering. “Kerrison took over from me, an’ Ali stayed on the case – made sense, she’d been there from the start – and then when I came back to work... well, I wasn’t up to much for a while.” And that’s a gross understatement, but James doesn’t need to know the details. Bloke’s clever enough to figure it out for himself anyway. “Ali stayed with Kerrison. Year or so later, I went on attachment. I didn’t look her up when I came back – should have, it wasn’t her fault, but the memories were still too raw. I just didn’t want to see anyone who was around at that time. Can’t remember when I heard she’d left the force. She sent me a Christmas card a year or so later. Wrote a note inside giving me her address an’ mentioning she owned a boatyard. Always meant to look her up, but never got around to it.”

“Until the other day,” James comments, expressionless, still writing. Robbie wants to ask why James took such an instant dislike to Ali, but it’s not the time – and even if it were, he suspects James wouldn’t answer. 

“Pity you didn’t come with us last night,” he says after a moment. “You could’ve been my alibi.”

James glances at him then, and there’s faint regret in his expression. “Yes,” is all he says. He puts his notebook away – interview over for now – and turns properly to Robbie. “What will you do now, sir?”

Robbie shrugs. “Can’t stay here, obviously. Best get back to the station an’ let Innocent know I’m off this case. I’ll ask her about you stayin’ on. No doubt she’ll be in touch. It’s not like I don’t have anything else to do, anyway, and I don’t need the distraction from finding Chl-” He stops himself abruptly. James is right: why is he still so focused on an attack that happened almost nine years ago? “Poppy Toynton and Samantha Coyle’s murderer.”

James drums his fingers on the door-handle. “You realise that if I stay on this investigation I probably won’t be able to help you with the Lady Matilda’s case? I shouldn’t have routine contact with you.”

He hadn’t thought of that, no. But of course James is right. “Damn it. Doesn’t make any difference,” he adds after a moment. “I want you finding Ali’s killer.”

“I’ll do my very best, sir, I promise.”

James is starting to open the door, but he stills when Robbie lays a hand on his arm and squeezes. “I know you will, man,” he says softly. “Thank you.”

 

***

He didn’t tell James about Ali kissing him. Why that thought occurs to him on the way back to the station he’s not sure, but it does, and it sticks in his mind.

Maybe because it’s just none of James’s business, besides not being relevant to Ali’s murder? Maybe because he’s had James wind him up before about getting involved with women who are involved in their investigations? Not that James himself has any room to talk there. Still, for some reason it seems he didn’t want James to know.

It’s not important, though. It’s not as if the kiss even meant anything. No strings, Ali’d said, and she was half-cut anyway. He let her kiss him because... well, he’d had a couple too, and she was an old friend, and it’d been nice just relaxing over a drink with someone familiar, someone he didn’t have to pretend with. And, as he’d been driving home afterwards, it’d been a nice feeling to realise someone actually fancied him – an old, set-in-his-ways bloke like him – and would’ve been perfectly happy to go to bed with him last night if he’d wanted.

If he had spent the night with Ali, would she still be alive? What was she doing in the boatyard at between two and four in the morning anyway, instead of in her bed?

But that’s for James to find out. He pulls into the station car park and into his designated senior officer’s space and switches off the engine.

***

“Ali McLennan? Wasn’t she your bagman once, Robbie?” 

He’s surprised that Innocent knows that, since it was well before her time – but then he’s forgetting. Ali resigned after he got back from the Virgin Islands, and that was Innocent’s time. She must have handled it.

“Yeah. An’ there’s more, ma’am. I was with her last night. Left her between three and five hours before Dr Hobson’s estimated time of death. It’s possible that, other than her killer-” 

“You might have been the last person to see her alive.” Innocent draws in a sharp breath. “Oh, dear. Well, you’re off the case, naturally. I don’t know why you were on it in the first place. You and Hathaway are already busy with the Lady Matilda’s murders.”

“James happened to get the call from Dispatch. When he phoned me, he said he would have told them to call another team, but he recognised the address. He knew I’d want to know.” That had to have been before James remembered that Robbie had been with Ali last night. 

“Where is he now?” 

“Still at the scene, ma’am.”

Innocent gives him an impatient look. “Well, if you’re off, he’s off.”

“I’d like him to stick with it.” As Innocent starts to shake her head, he adds, “He’s already there and gathering information. Anyone else would have to start all over again. And...” He sighs. “Whatever Ali may have done that ended her career, she worked for me. She was a decent bagman, too. I want her killer found, and – well, James’ll do it right.”

It’s several moments before Innocent speaks, time she spends toying with the small gold oval in her ear. Finally, she nods once. “All right, but I’m going to assign a DI to the case. Not because I don’t think James is capable. We both know he is, but that’s not the point. You’re a potential suspect – not that I think you did it, of course not, but procedure dictates that you’re treated as such – and he’s too close to you. You’re going to have to be formally interviewed, and he can’t do that. Well, not alone, anyway.” She turns to her computer, clicks on her mouse a couple of times, then studies the screen. “Lawson’s just finished a case. He can supervise this one. I’ll inform Sergeant Hathaway. You can’t have any contact with him until this is over.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He’s dismissed. Robbie turns and leaves the office, forcing his mind back to his other investigation and the fact that he’s now without a sergeant. No, not without a sergeant – he can pull someone from another team without a problem – but without _James_ , which is far more significant.

 

***

Robbie’s clearing away his dinner dishes later that evening – he’s getting better; microwaved jacket potato and a salad he picked up at the Marks and Sparks food hall on Queen Street this afternoon – when there’s a familiar knock at his door. 

He’s been hoping James would at least phone. Not to update him on the investigation into Ali’s murder – that’s against procedure and he knows James better than that – but because he wants his sergeant’s input on their other case. James put the timeline together, after all, and he’s been working on trying to figure out who wore what costume.

James is looking troubled. He follows Robbie into the flat without a word, and without a word Robbie gets him a beer. “You shouldn’t be here, man, but I’m glad you are.”

“I know I shouldn’t.” James’s voice has lost its usual smoothness. He’s not at all certain of himself and what he’s doing, and the last thing Robbie should do is take advantage of that. No, his responsibility right now is to save his sergeant from making a mistake out of loyalty that could ruin his career.

“Then go,” he says roughly. “James, don’t do something you’ll regret.”

James looks straight at Robbie, determination in his eyes. “I’d regret not doing it more.”

“James-”

“No.” James sheds his coat, hanging it on the back of a chair. “Innocent’s going to phone you, most likely later this evening, to tell you that you’re off the Toynton case as well. She won’t tell you why, but you’re clever, sir. You’ll work it out.”

Robbie sighs. “Don’t have to be clever for that, do I? Obviously there’s a link between Ali’s murder and the Lady Matilda’s cases. How, I don’t know. Doesn’t make sense. Ali didn’t even remember Poppy Toynton. You know that, you were there.”

James dips his head, raking long fingers through his hair. “I have reason to believe she was lying, sir. To be honest-” He looks up again and meets Robbie’s gaze. “I had my suspicions at the time. This wasn’t any other case. Two days in, you got the worst news you could possibly have received. She was your bagman. There’s no way she’d forget that. I know if it’d been me in her place...” He shakes his head. “That happens to her governor, someone she seemed, when we met her the other day, to have been fond of, and she’s forgotten many of the details around the case? It didn’t make sense. Especially as what struck her first and foremost was how long ago it was, not – well, the personal significance for you.”

James would have remembered every little detail. Of course he would – but then he’s James. Few people are like him. All the same, he’s right. Robbie was surprised at Ali’s claim not to remember much about the case.

“So the cases are linked somehow,” he says; he’s not going to comment on what James said about Ali. “And I’m – what? On enforced leave? Or assigned to other duties?”

“I didn’t ask.” James starts pacing, nervous energy leaking from him, and again Robbie wants to tell him to go, not to risk his future. “I’m not supposed to be talking to you without DI Lawson present. Oh, you’re not really a suspect,” he adds quickly, emphatically. “No-one believes that – especially not with what we now know. But you’re still the last known person to see Ms McLennan alive, so for procedural reasons we have to keep you away. Which is completely ridiculous, as it’s now clear that we’re looking for a single murderer, and that’s obviously not you. Regardless, you’re still being kept away.”

“Yeah, I get that.” He waves a hand to show it’s no big deal. “What I don’t understand is what has you so agitated. So, I’m off the Poppy Toynton and Samantha Coyle investigation. I’m not too fussed about that, especially if it means I can strike House Beautiful off my visiting list for the foreseeable future. The only thing that does bother me is I’m not gonna get the chance to find out who left young Chloe Brooks for dead. Really thought I was gonna put that one right.”

“I’m still working on that, sir,” James reminds him. “I know it’s not the same as you doing it, but I’ll do my best for her.”

“I know you will, mate.” He waves James over to the sofa, and the two of them sit. “Come on, out with it. What’s got you so worked up? And _don’t_ tell me anything you’re not supposed to.”

“You’re not a suspect,” James repeats, and there’s an undertone of almost raw emotion in his voice. “So. I’m not allowed to tell you this, but I’m going to anyway.”

“James-”

“I spent most of the day going through Ali McLennan’s office. You need to know what I found. No, you have a _right_ to know.”

Robbie gives up trying to change James’s mind. The bloke’s an adult, an experienced copper; he knows the rules and if he’s decided this is what he needs to do – well, it wouldn’t be the first time either of them has decided to ignore official procedure. 

He listens in increasing bewilderment as James describes the “incident room” he found in the back room, the photos and newspaper articles and links drawn between different people and events. Why? Why would Ali do that, for a case she claimed she barely remembered? Why do it at all? She left the police – yes, she told him she felt pushed out, but she didn’t give any indication of missing it. 

There can’t be an innocent explanation, and his gut’s starting to tell him that whatever else James has to tell him is going to be even worse.

It is. Ali was the one who was blackmailing Poppy Toynton. _Ali_. 

So that’s the link between Ali’s murder and Poppy Toynton. Though Toynton was killed several days before Ali, so there’s obviously someone else involved, someone who knew Ali was blackmailing Poppy. Who? And what could Ali have found out about Poppy that was worth not only over a grand a month, but her life?

And how could he have been so wrong about her? He’s always thought of himself as a pretty good judge of character, but in this case – unless Ali changed fundamentally after she stopped working with him – he really hadn’t a clue. Mind, Val never liked her much, did she? He’d never made much sense of that – after all, she’d had much more to complain about with Morse. With Ali, he was the boss and it was much easier to keep his commitments about being home. 

But then, if Val had realised that Ali would have welcomed him into her bed – and women do notice that sort of thing, don’t they?

James touches his arm lightly. “Are you all right, sir?” 

He glances at his sergeant – no, not his sergeant first and foremost at the moment. James has come to him with this information, risking his own position, out of friendship, not out of any sense of obligation to his governor. That much is obvious. And it’s clear that James’s nervousness earlier was because he knew he was about to shatter his boss’s illusions about a former colleague, someone Robbie’d made clear he liked. If James had any concerns that Robbie’s reaction might include shooting the messenger – as he’d done over Simon Monkford – he hadn’t let it affect him.

He covers James’s hand with his own, stopping the bloke from withdrawing. “Yeah. Yeah, I will be. Just a bit of a shock findin’ out that someone I trusted...” He shrugs. James understands, after all.

His mobile rings.

Robbie takes a deep breath. “That’s probably Innocent. You should go.”

Instantly, James shakes his head. “There’s more I haven’t told you yet, sir. She won’t know I’m here.”

Again, he nods agreement without hesitation, even as he frowns at his own selfishness. As James’s governor, his concern should be to protect his sergeant, including from himself and from James’s own inclinations where they’re not in the best interests of James’s career. “All right, then. You can go an’ put the kettle on.”

 

***

He wanders into the hall as he answers the phone, ensuring that the sound of a kettle being filled can’t filter through to his Chief Super. “Lewis. Evening, ma’am.”

“Robbie.” She sounds stressed and unhappy. “DI Lawson tells me that Sergeant Hathaway found some items that suggest a pretty solid link between Ali McLennan’s murder and the Lady Matilda’s cases. On the positive side,” she continues, not giving him a chance to interject, which is just fine by him, “even in the absence of forensic evidence relating to murder weapons, what Hathaway found does seem to indicate that we’re looking at a single murderer – which clearly rules you out on evidence grounds, let alone motive, opportunity or alibi.”

“Does that mean I can take over the McLennan investigation again, ma’am?” He’s certain the answer’s going to be no, based on what James said, but it’s a natural question to ask.

“Absolutely not, Robbie! In fact, it means you’re off the Lady Matilda’s case too. Best all round, in fact, if you just take a few days’ leave. Stay away from the station, don’t talk to any officers – and that includes Hathaway, incidentally. No sneaking off for pints at the Trout. I want this case to have a clean resolution. I refuse to give the murderer’s defence any opportunity to claim that one of the investigating officers could have been involved.” Robbie doesn’t comment, and after a moment Innocent adds, “You do know, I hope, that no-one at the station considers you a suspect?”

“I’m glad to hear that, ma’am,” he says dryly.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Robbie,” she says immediately, impatiently. “That said, for form’s sake you will need to be interviewed. I believe Pete Lawson will be in contact tomorrow to arrange it.”

“Yes, ma’am. If that’s it...?”

“Yes. Goodnight, Robbie.”

He bids her goodnight and ends the call, coming back to the living-room where James is just carrying two mugs of tea over to the coffee-table. “All right, sir?”

He pulls a face. “If bein’ told that no-one believes I had anything to do with it but I’m still officially a suspect an’ have to take leave is all right...” He shakes his head. “I’m glad you came to tell me. Would’ve been a lot worse hearin’ it from Innocent like that.”

“I suspected as much,” James says, remaining standing even though Robbie’s sitting. Robbie gestures to the sofa-cushion beside him, but James grimaces and shakes his head faintly. “I said there was more, sir.”

Robbie sighs. “You did. Go on, then.” As James hesitates, he adds, “Look, I already know Ali’d become a blackmailer. Unless you’re gonna tell me she’d turned to murder on top of that, there’s not much worse it can get.”

“Yeah.” James nods, but stays standing. “There was a tape. A police interview tape,” he clarifies. “We think it’s the original – at any rate, I sent Julie to search Records and it’s not there.” 

Right. So even while Ali was still in the force, she wasn’t playing by the rules. Chances are the racism accusation was just an easy way to get rid of her, if her superiors had any suspicion of what she was up to.

“What was it about?” he asks, hearing the rough edge to his voice.

James produces his mobile. “I recorded it, sir. But it’s up to you. I could just summarise.”

“James.” Robbie shakes his head. “If Lawson or Innocent found out...”

“They don’t know. I was alone in Ms McLennan’s office when I found the tape. Once I realised what it was, I replayed and recorded it. There was no-one else around.”

After a moment, Robbie nods. “Go on, then.”

It’s not good. All right, bullying, insulting and threatening suspects is common practice, and he’s done a bit of it himself, though he hopes not as nastily as this. And, of course, doing deals is common as well, if there’s a chance of catching a bigger fish – but, again, this doesn’t sound right.

And then James plays the bit about the body. Judd Havelock, by the sound of it – the bloke Ali swore blind had to be living it up in Bogota. And all along she had bloody good reason to believe that he’d been murdered.

Blackmail’s bad enough, but she had evidence of a possible murder, and a way to track down a suspect, and she never reported it. Worse still, she covered it up, stealing the tape and hiding it.

“I’m glad I didn’t know about this before she was killed,” he tells James, not bothering to hide his anger.

Putting his phone away, James finally comes to sit down. “Because you’d have had to arrest her?”

“Because I’d’ve been bloody tempted to murder her meself!” He thumps the arm of the sofa. “I wouldn’t have, course not, but... bloody _hell_! She was me sergeant, James. I trained her. Taught her how to do things right, I thought. Didn’t think I set that bad an example.”

“Of course you don’t, sir,” James says immediately, forcefully. “Look at what you’ve done with me, as if it really needs saying.”

He shakes his head, looking at James with a disbelieving glance. “You had it all to begin with. You’d just never been given the chance to prove it.”

“Not true. You’re the best governor in the station, and I’m very, very lucky to have you. But we’re getting distracted.” James turns matter-of-fact again; oh, he really doesn’t like getting too personal. “This has given us a lead on the Chloe Brooks case, or at least on the fate of Judd Havelock – and, if I’m not mistaken, the same person is behind four murders and one attempted murder.”

“Right. Get anywhere with that number-plate yet?” 

James’s lips tighten. “Unfortunately, DI Lawson didn’t see the same significance in the tape. But then he’s not as familiar with the other cases. He prioritised other tasks that kept me too busy to follow up with DVLA. I’m going to phone again first thing in the morning.”

“If you’re not too busy arranging interviews with a DI who’s clearly got nothing to do with any of the murders,” Robbie comments, not bothering to hide the sarcasm.

James snorts faintly, but then sobers again. “One more thing, sir.”

“Oh, bloody hell.” He stares up at the ceiling, as if searching for strength. “What else did she do?”

“What? Oh! No, not Ms McLennan.” The lad’s being surprisingly respectful, given what they’ve found out about Ali – but then Robbie did cut up at him yesterday for referring to her as the deceased. “It occurs to me that all the murders and the attempt so far have been in some way related to the original case. Chloe because she saw Judd Havelock being attacked. Poppy Toynton was being blackmailed, but she can’t have been the murderer, because she was killed and there’ve been two more deaths since. Samantha Coyle because, presumably, she saw someone on the stair, and then Ali because of what she knew.”

“Right,” Robbie says. “So obviously the murderer was there that night, back in 2002 – but we already knew that.”

“Not what I’m getting at, sir.” Now there’s a worried frown on James’s face. “Of everyone who was involved in the original investigation, you’re the only one left. And you’ve been asking questions, not just about the recent murders, but about Judd Havelock.”

Ah. “You don’t think I might be a target?”

“I think it’s very likely, sir.” James’s jaw clenches. “And it makes me _infuriated_ that everyone’s running around shutting you out of the investigation, putting you on leave, insisting that you have no contact with anyone from the station, when what they should be doing is giving you protection!”

His first instinct is to tell James he’s over-reacting, that there’s no reason why their murderer would come after him and that he doesn’t need protection. But even as he opens his mouth to speak he observes James properly. The lad’s genuinely worried, and in his mind it’s a logical fear based on evidence, not paranoia. 

He’s not going to ridicule genuine caring – and, besides, his sergeant has excellent instincts, even if he’s not always right. 

“I don’t know if you’re right,” he says after a pause, his tone gentle. “But, you know, I’m tougher than I look. Not so easy to kill, me.”

“Bloody better not be,” James mutters, barely above his breath, and Robbie pretends he didn’t hear.

 

***

“Go on, get yourself off home,” Robbie says a short time later, ushering James to the door. “Expect I’ll see you at the station tomorrow.”

James nods. “Complete waste of everyone’s time, when we could be out there finding the killer. You included.”

“You’ll do that. Sooner you do, sooner I can get back to work.” He pats James’s shoulder. “You’re a good detective – y’don’t need me to solve this one.” James doesn’t answer, but the sudden widening of his eyes shows his surprise. “An’, in case I haven’t said, I’m grateful for what you did tonight. Just...” He shakes his head. “Don’t do it again, all right? Don’t want you ending up out on your ear.”

James doesn’t answer, but for some reason Robbie suspects he’d just say it’d be worth it – and that’s absolutely ridiculous.

Sleep’s elusive for Robbie tonight. Images and thoughts chase themselves in his head: Ali as his bagman, the down-to-earth and funny young woman she was then, and the occasional post-work hour or so they’d spend in the pub chewing over cases and, more often than not, laughing over the ridiculous aspects of police work they encountered daily. Ali in the pub last night, bitter and defensive as she told him why she left the force. Kissing him, making clear that she was available for more than that if he wanted. Her viciously-murdered body lying beside the boat she was repairing.

And James, worry still in his eyes as he left, concern for his boss’s safety warring with his anger over Robbie’s exclusion. 

He can sort James later, once all this is over, and he will. But there’s nothing he can do now for his other sergeant. Too late for that – far too late. Ali made her own misfortunes, of course he knows that, but he still can’t help wondering: if he’d made the effort to stay in touch with her, or even contact her once he got back from attachment, could things have been different?

He’ll never know, and that’s what keeps him awake, staring at the ceiling, for far too long.

 

***


	2. Chapter 2

Robbie gets up with his seven o’clock alarm, despite not having anywhere to go. Habit, of course, and anyway what’s the point in lying in bed half the morning? Especially as he’ll be called to the station for the obligatory interview at some point anyway.

Habit also leads him to glance at the street outside, and he’s just about to let the curtains fall back into place when he hesitates, frowns and looks again at the snow-dotted familiar grey Astra parked on the other side of the road – and at the even more familiar blond head just visible through the darkened windows.

He’s reaching for the phone to order Hathaway home when he stops himself. After last night, James deserves better than to have him play the heavy-handed governor, doesn’t he?

Robbie sighs and heads to the bathroom. 

The lad’s an idiot, he decides as he steps into the shower. He told James that he could look after himself, and anyway that he didn’t think he was a very likely target. Yet James has stayed up all night anyway, by the look of it. And it’s the second time in just a few days that he’s stayed up all night for Robbie, isn’t it? The photos for the Chloe Brooks case – and what was his reason? _You thought something wasn’t right._

Not for the case. For _Robbie._

Then last night he risked his job by coming over and giving Robbie information official procedure says he shouldn’t have access to. Now this.

He’s reminded suddenly of a night – oh, it’s got to be fourteen, fifteen years ago now – when he sat in his car all night outside Morse’s flat, worried about his governor’s state of mind after the discovery that his recently-widowed former fiancée had committed suicide. Course, useless sod that he was, he’d fallen asleep before dawn and never noticed Morse leave – but he’d found the bloke later and made sure he was all right. And then, for the first and only time in his career, he’d broken the rules and destroyed official evidence, for the sole reason that the contents of that tape would have distressed Morse even more. 

What has he done to earn that sort of loyalty from James? He’d call it devotion, even, except that it seems such a ridiculous description, though then again this is James Hathaway, almost-priest and frequently other-worldly. The concept of devotion is probably not so ridiculous for him. 

Yet to _him_ , Robbie Lewis, an ordinary DI with nothing particular to recommend him, other than thoroughness and determination to see a job done well? He’d understand if it were someone like Morse, brilliant yet flawed, with the reputation for genius everyone wanted to touch, even if they ended up getting burned.

Doesn’t matter why. What matters is the man sitting outside in the cold. Robbie dresses quickly, then, in the kitchen, puts the kettle on before picking up his landline; no point in having a call go to James’s mobile from the work mobile of someone he’s not supposed to be in contact with.

“Hathaway.” And how can he sound so alert when he’s been awake all night? Because one thing Robbie’s certain of is that there’ll have been no falling asleep on what he’ll have considered duty for James Hathaway.

“Get yourself inside.” He hangs up before James can answer. He’s just put out cereal and popped two slices of bread in the toaster when there’s two muted raps at the front door. 

“Sir,” James begins as Robbie opens the door, apology and the beginnings of self-justification in his tone.

Robbie cuts across him. “Give over, soft lad.” He stands back. “Breakfast’s ready. You can tell me after. Should be sendin’ you home to sleep, mind,” he continues as he follows James back into the kitchen. “Not that I’ve got any right to at the moment.”

“Sir.” The stubborn protest in James’s tone is clearly directed at Robbie’s suggestion that he’s not currently entitled to act as James’s governor. But his eyes... oh, Robbie was right. Loyalty and devotion, which he still has no idea what he’s done to deserve.

“Don’t call me sir,” he says quietly, setting a mug of tea, milk added appropriately, in front of James, who is obediently helping himself to cereal. “Not–” 

“With respect, _sir_ ,” James cuts in, “I don’t give a monkey’s about process and your official position vis-a-vis the force at the moment. It’s ridiculous that you’re being treated like this when no-one considers you a suspect, but even if we hadn’t found evidence that would eliminate anyone else in your position from the enquiry I’d still feel the same way.”

Robbie smiles. James’s defence of him is endearing, though the lad’s got it completely wrong. “Not what I meant, man.” He spreads strawberry jam on his toast. “Right now, we’re just two mates havin’ breakfast, an’ mates don’t call each other sir.”

James’s eyes widen momentarily, and then his lips tilt upwards fractionally at the corners. “Robbie, then. But what I said still applies.”

“I know.” He looks steadily at James until the bloke meets his gaze. “And thank you.”

“No thanks necessary.” 

It’s very necessary, but he won’t push it. “You got a change of clothes in your car?” James nods. “Right. After breakfast, you can shower and change. Can’t go into work in yesterday’s suit.” Especially when it’s full of creases from spending the night in a car that’s really too small for someone of James’s height. Next time they’re issued with new official vehicles, he’ll have to make sure something’s done about that.

He shoos James to the bathroom a few minutes later, after the bloke’s got his suit-bag – James knows where to find clean towels and a spare toothbrush, and he knows the man has a razor in his bag. It’s not the first time James has dressed for work at his flat, but it’s the first time Robbie’s not been going with him.

Fifteen minutes later, as James is ready to leave, Robbie abruptly realises that he finally understands what it was like for Val all those years. Today, he’s the one seeing his partner off to work, having to stay behind out of obligation.

Val always kissed him before he went out the door. His gaze slides away from James’s – where the bloody hell did that come from?

“See you later, s– Robbie.” James isn’t happy that they’re not going to work together, either, that’s clear.

“Yeah,” he manages. 

“I’ll get him – or her – for you.” It sounds more like a solemn vow than a promise.

“Thank you.” His voice is gruff.

James’s lips curve upwards at the corners briefly before he replies. “It _is_ as much for me as for you, of course. I’m doing your job as well as mine at the moment. Besides, if you’re not back soon you’ll forget all the effort I put into training you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He pushes James out and shuts the door behind him.

 

***

The breakfast dishes are already cleared away and Robbie’s at a loss as to what to do with this unanticipated day off, until he remembers that there’s laundry needing doing. Being on leave doesn’t stop him thinking about the case, and he’s mulling over the key players and possible motives as he sorts the washing into whites and colours. It’s still not making sense, though, and he realises that he never did ask James whether he’d found out any more about the costumes worn at the party.

Who had a motive for the murders? There’s Ruth Brooks now, isn’t there? Now he knows that Judd Havelock – Ruth’s boyfriend at the time – was trying it on with Ruth’s little sister, and Ruth knew. He saw her face when he confronted her with it. Could she have been angry enough, in the heat of the moment, to kill Judd? And then Poppy Toynton could have found out and threatened to expose her, and Ruth killed her too to silence her. Didn’t she arrive late to the do that night? She said she was working, but she certainly had time to follow Poppy up the staircase and kill her. And then Samantha because she was a possible witness.

Ruth? Is it possible? 

There’s the body in the car that Ali’s suspect talked about on the tape – well, she would have had to dispose of the body somehow. Probably had help with that, and if she did – well, that’s another potential murder victim, isn’t it? Unless it was Poppy who helped her.

And disposing where? The decommissioned Upper Heyford RAF Base keeps coming up, doesn’t it? James even found a photo of it in Chloe Brooks’ bag, in Poppy Toynton’s bedroom. 

He needs to get Ruth into the interview room as soon as possible, get to the bottom of all this– 

But he can’t, can he? He’s off the case. 

Bugger. Maybe he can send James an email? From one of those cyber-cafés, maybe. Get him to investigate Ruth more closely. 

Though, wait. Is he really willing to believe that Ruth attacked her own sister and left her for dead? But that could explain her devoted care over the years: guilt, maybe?

Devoted care... James. He still can’t believe the bloke spent all night outside his flat. Saw nothing, too. James didn’t dwell on that, just acknowledged that there was nothing of concern overnight. 

He’s moving the first load to the dryer when his mobile rings. “Lewis.”

“Pete Lawson. Sorry to do this to you, mate, but we need you to come in for an interview about the Ali McLennan murder.”

At least Lawson didn’t keep him waiting all day. Lawson’s not so bad, anyway – there’s definitely DIs he’d like less to be in charge of this, even if, according to James, Lawson’s instincts don’t seem to be up to scratch. “I’ve been expecting it. When?”

“Half an hour? You’ll be met at the front desk. And thanks, Robbie. This is bollocks, we know it is, but it is procedure.”

He sets the dryer going, then heads to the bedroom to change. He might be on enforced leave, but he’s still a detective inspector and he’s going to act like one. He’s not going to walk into the station wearing jeans and a rugby shirt.

The first thing he sees when he opens the front door is the marked police car parked outside. Robbie sighs; so James didn’t just give up on his idea that Robbie could be the next target, did he? All the same, he can’t really blame the bloke. If it were anyone other than himself, he’d have done the same thing.

He leans down next to the driver’s door; the uniformed constable, a middle-aged man he recognises, rolls down the window. “I’m heading down to the station, Donaldson. Don’t think I’ll be in any danger there. Be a good time for you to take a break.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be following you, though. Under orders to stick with you.” Donaldson glances at his watch. “How long do you think you’ll be there?”

He shrugs. “Half an hour? Hour?” He shrugs. “Go to the canteen. I’ll get a message to you when I’m ready to leave.” 

Twenty-five minutes after Lawson’s call, he jogs up the steps into the station. James is lounging against the front desk, idly chatting to the desk sergeant – a conversation that halts abruptly when he sees Robbie. “Sir.” Immediately, he comes over. “Thanks-”

“Don’t _you_ thank me.” It was more James’s formal, ultra-professional tone than the words that irritated him – he won’t have James treating him as if he’s any other witness or potential suspect they’ve asked to come in. 

“Sorry.” To his credit, James does sound genuinely regretful. “I’ll confess I have no idea how to handle this,” he adds in a low voice as they walk together towards the interview suite.

“So you decided to treat me like any other interviewee?” 

“It wasn’t a conscious decision.” James glances his way briefly. “I do apol-”

He touches James’s arm. “Don’t.” James subsides. “I’m surprised they let you meet me.”

“Well, it’s not as if you’re seriously a suspect. Though I’m under orders.”

“Not to talk about anything related to the cases,” Robbie says. “Well, best make sure we don’t, then. So I won’t tell you I’m currently thinking that Ruth Brooks is worth a closer look, and you won’t tell me what you think of that.”

James’s lips twitch. “Worth a punt, I’d say. If you’d said anything, which of course you haven’t. Which is why I won’t tell you that I’ll look into that hypothesis in between the list Lawson’s given me and checking with the costume shop again to see if they’ve managed to find out who rented the Dottore de la Peste costume.”

The what costume? Obviously someone from the 2002 party James now considers a suspect. “You’re a tough nut to crack, Sergeant.” He studies James as the bloke holds a door open for him. He’d like to ask if James has got anywhere with that number-plate yet, but that’d be taking too much advantage. “Promise me something. Regardless of whether the case is solved today or not, you go home on time and get a full night’s sleep.”

“That an order, _sir_?” 

It’s not too difficult to understand that James needs the reassurance that Robbie’s still his governor. He arranges his face into a gruff commanding expression. “Bloody well is, Sergeant.”

James lays a hand briefly against his back. “Your wish is my command, sir. Except that if the case is solved today I hope you’ll permit me to invite you for a pint.”

“I’ll consider it.” He lets James shepherd him into the interview room, where he greets Pete Lawson and sits for the first time in his life in the interviewee’s chair.

Lawson conducts the interview; James sits slightly behind him, not meeting Robbie’s gaze, and doesn’t say a word. The only time he reacts is when Robbie – giving a step-by-step account of his evening with Ali – mentions that she kissed him. James jerks forward in his seat and his eyes, very wide, focus on Robbie. He knows James is wondering why Robbie didn’t tell him before.

“And you’re sure it stopped there?” Lawson asks. “You didn’t go home with her?”

“Like I said,” Robbie answers, holding onto his patience, “I said goodnight. She said not to be a stranger, and she went off down the tow-path. I went to my car and drove home.”

“And you didn’t decide you’d missed out on a sure thing and drive over to her place later?” Lawson puts to him. James’s mouth thins and Robbie can see his fists clench. 

“No. I didn’t.” He leans forward. “She was my sergeant – not any more, o’ course, but still. I’d never have taken her up on it. I let her kiss me–” He shrugs. “–for old times’ sake an’ not to be rude, but if I’d seen her again I’d’ve made clear it wouldn’t happen again.”

Lawson nods. “If we can go back to your conversation over drinks... did you ask Ms McLennan about her recollection of the Chloe Brooks case again?”

“No. She’d already told me she didn’t remember. I was surprised, but I believed her – I’d never known her to lie to me. I just put it down to her drinkin’ too much over the years.”

“Did she mention anything about money, by any chance? How the business was doing?”

Remembering that he’s not supposed to know anything about the blackmail, Robbie focuses solely on his conversation with Ali. “Other than saying that she sank her severance into the business, no. I suspected that business might not have been great, but she didn’t say.”

Lawson nods, then glances behind him. “Sergeant, any questions?”

James shakes his head. “No, sir.”

“Interview concluded.” Lawson leans forward and stops the tape recorder.

James doesn’t escort him out. He has to content himself with a _sir_ and a brief nod before he’s accompanied out by a uniformed constable. With nothing else to do, he drives himself home, followed by Donaldson, his shadow for the day.

 

***

He’s been home ten minutes when his mobile beeps. It’s a text message – from James. _Car registered to Stuart Toynton, given to Poppy as a runaround. Poppy disposed of body, I’m guessing at Heyford, but for whom? With whom?_

It takes Robbie far too much time to text back: _Could poppy have killed judd? doesnt explain her murder or others_

 _I think she helped the murderer_ , James texts back less than a minute later. _And the murderer, unless I’m wrong, was wearing a Dottore de la Peste costume with blood on its beak._

His phone beeps again before he can even think of answering James’s text. This time, it’s a photo: of a bird-creature with a long, gold beak with a red tip. 

_fits with chloes recollection_ , he texts back. _any idea who wore it_

 _Working on it_ , James responds. _Later._

The costume shop, no doubt. _Damn_ this bloody suspension. If it wasn’t for that, Robbie’d be on his way to House Beautiful to lean on Ellerby’s acolytes again. They know more than they’ve been telling him, he’s absolutely convinced of that, and they’ve been far too bloody bolshy about answering questions.

He phones Innocent. “I must have been ruled out by now, ma’am! Can’t I take back the case?”

“Absolutely not, Robbie! I can’t even believe you’re asking. I know it’s frustrating,” she adds, more calmly, “but I need you to stay away from anything to do with this or any other case until we’ve arrested the murderer and got a confession.”

Ending the call, he curses under his breath, then grabs pen and paper and sits down at the kitchen table. An hour later, he’s got a list of possible suspects, another list of people who’ve been eliminated, and other players together with possible motives.

Ruth Brooks is still a possibility – but why would Poppy Toynton help her by using her car to dispose of a body? And – though he’d have to check her bank account to be certain – there’s nothing to suggest that Ali was blackmailing her.

Poppy as the original murderer, with Ali blackmailing her – but then who killed Poppy? Not Ali. No matter that he’s been well and truly disillusioned by what he now knows about her, he still can’t see her as a murderer. Double murderer: she’d have had to kill Samantha Coyle as well. And then who killed Ali? That would mean three murderers in total. Doesn’t make sense.

There’s Ellerby’s acolytes, Lakshmi Eyre and Freya Carlisle – but there was clearly no love lost between either of them and Poppy. Who would Poppy be willing to help get away with murder?

He gets up and makes himself a cuppa, giving himself time to think.

And there it is: the one thing that never made sense all along. Why did Professor Ellerby invite Poppy Toynton to live at House Beautiful? She wasn’t clever, or witty, or the kind of person who was going to make an impact on the world. She wasn’t Ellerby’s usual type at all. But if Ellerby owed her for that kind of favour...

Yet Ellerby claimed she wasn’t at the party, and her acolytes haven’t contradicted that. At the same time, they wouldn’t, would they? And it was Ellerby who needed her shawl, meaning that Poppy had to leave the Great Hall and go exactly where the murderer could find her.

The more he thinks about it, the more convinced he is. Ignoring the boiling kettle, he reaches for his mobile and hits the first number on speed-dial.

“Hathaway.”

He doesn’t bother with preliminaries. “It’s Ellerby.”

“I know. I’m following her right now – traffic camera showed her headed north. I’m guessing Heyford.”

Abandoned for ten years or more; they’ve both already concluded that it’d be the perfect place to dump a body. But why’s Ellerby going there now? Oh, shit. Has she got another victim with her? Who, this time? “Lawson’s with you?”

“No, I’m on my own. Couldn’t get hold of him. I’m driving, got to go.” The call’s disconnected.

Robbie doesn’t even stop to think. He grabs his keys and runs, on the way ordering Donaldson to call for full backup immediately.

James is going after a conscienceless killer on his own. Diana Ellerby’s killed four times already to protect herself, maybe even five by now – though he still has no idea why she killed Havelock in the first place – and she won’t hesitate to make James her next victim. 

Not on his watch. No fucking way.

Innocent calls as he’s speeding up the Woodstock Road. “Robbie, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“We know who the murderer is, ma’am. James has gone after her on his own. What do you _think_ I’m doing?”

“He might be on his own, Robbie, but if you think he didn’t call for backup himself you really don’t know your sergeant. Several cars are on their way, and the Eye in the Sky’s monitoring Ellerby’s vehicle.” Innocent’s tone is exceedingly tetchy. “I told you to stay out of this–”

“Have I been cleared?” he snaps, navigating a roundabout at speed.

“Of course you–”

“All I needed to know. Thank you, ma’am.” He hangs up, returning his full attention to the road ahead.

He hears the helicopter overhead as he drives into the base, grateful for the fresh fall of snow overnight that means he can follow the tyre-tracks. Both sets lead to one of the sheds; Robbie comes to a fast yet safe halt beside James’s car and silently makes his way inside.

Ellerby’s talking, justifying her actions – she’d actually been having an affair with Judd Havelock, which is about the last thing he’d have imagined. She found out about his other affairs, and then caught him in the act with Chloe. James is doing an excellent job, encouraging her to talk, to confess everything. It doesn’t sound like he’s in any danger, or especially worried about anything– 

“Put down the petrol, Professor Ellerby!”

 _Hel_ l. Robbie steps out into view – but it’s not as he feared. Ellerby’s soaking the area close to where she’s standing, by some sort of pit filled with water – Judd Havelock’s resting place? – but she doesn’t appear to be threatening James.

“Come on, Professor, give that to me,” he says, gently as he can, moving next to James and holding out his hand. James glances sharply around, eyes widening, but he’s too well-trained to say anything.

“Stay back!” Ellerby sloshes the can in their direction.

“Careful, sir!” Alarm in his voice, James grabs Robbie’s arm and steps backwards.

Ellerby continues talking, about feeling let down, disgraced, by Judd, about loving him still. “If only he’d been kind...”

Robbie tries to intervene again, but Ellerby has a cigarette-lighter in her hand. With a sense of inevitability, they watch her ignite herself.

 

***

There was no other victim. It seems Ellerby’s conscience had got the better of her and her intention had been to kill herself all along, to burn herself and Havelock’s body together.

Outside, waiting for backup, SOCO and the pathology team to arrive, Robbie feels James’s gaze on him. “Not that I wasn’t very glad to see you, sir, but what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be off the case.”

“Bein’ an idiot, looks like.” He grimaces, mocking himself. “Thought you were goin’ off alone after a serial killer an’ I might have to...” No. After everything James has done for him, it’s not the time to mock the bloke. “I was terrified she’d kill you too.”

James’s expression turns surprised – and very touched. “Thank you, s– No. Thank you, _Robbie_.” 

He touches James’s arm lightly as the roar of sirens signals the arrival of backup. “Owed you, didn’t I? Not that I wouldn’t have done it anyway,” he adds; James deserves to know that.

He gets a flash of a quick smile in response; then the first vehicles come to a halt and the opportunity for private conversation’s over. There’ll be that pint later, though. Probably just the one; James needs an early night.

Robbie waves James forward as the new arrivals await instructions. “Your case, Sergeant. You’re in charge.”

 

***

Robbie brings their pints to the outside table, where James is halfway through his cigarette. At least the snow’s melted and the temperature’s warming up a bit. Sitting, he tilts his glass so that it touches James’s. “Cheers. And thank you.”

James taps his glass in return, though a faint pink flush is staining his cheeks and he’s not meeting Robbie’s gaze. “Not necessary. I’m just glad it’s over and done with and we’re back to normal.”

It’s very necessary; James put his future in the force on the line for him. Regardless of Robbie’s innocence and the fact that no-one seriously believed otherwise, if Lawson or Innocent found out about what James did the least he could expect is to be demoted.

But he won’t embarrass the bloke any further. James knows that Robbie values what he did, and that’s enough.

“There is one thing I’ve been wondering.” James meets his gaze this time, raising an eyebrow. “What was your problem with Ali? I don’t mean later, when you found out what she’d been up to,” he clarifies as James gives him a _you’re joking!_ look. “Right from the start, when I took you out to meet her, you didn’t like her. You wouldn’t even come for a drink with us.”

James fiddles with his lighter. “I wish I had. Like you said yesterday morning, I would have been your alibi.”

“Don’t avoid the question.” James doesn’t immediately answer, so Robbie continues, “I know you said you felt some of what she said got you suspicious, but your hackles were raised even before then.” A possible answer occurs to him. “Never even thought – you were at the station for around two years before she resigned, weren’t you? Did you know–”

“I never came across her,” James says, and his expression’s completely honest. “I can’t even remember hearing her name mentioned.”

“Ah.” So it’s not that. What, then? “James...”  
He’s fidgeting again, and another pink flush is spreading over his neck as well as his face. “Sir – Robbie, I... You’re right. I didn’t take to her, but honestly I can’t explain why.” He lights another cigarette with fingers that aren’t entirely steady. “Can we drop it, please?”

Robbie studies his sergeant for a long moment, then nods. “Fine. You were right, anyway, so I can hardly complain, can I?” He drains his pint. “Another? Though you should probably get off home and get some sleep.”

“It’s not even seven o’clock.” James finishes his own drink. “And, actually, I’m more hungry than tired at the moment. Should I get the menus while I’m up there?”

“Only if I’m paying for dinner.” It’s the least he can do. “And we go inside to eat.”

Robbie watches James walk back into the pub, unable to prevent the fond smile that creeps over his face. It’s not too difficult to figure out what James’s problem was with Ali – he’s not a detective inspector for nothing, and James gave a lot away even without saying much at all. He was jealous – stupidly, unnecessarily so, but that’s so obviously what the problem was.

Why, though? It’s not as if there was any question of James being replaced as his bagman – or as his friend and drinking companion. Piqued at finding out that Robbie had worked closely with someone else before James came along? Someone who was comfortably informal with him, calling him _Rob_ and not _sir_. Though that’s completely irrational.

But then, isn’t most jealousy irrational? And, Robbie considers, based on insecurity. Could that be it? Well, James should have no doubt now that Robbie considers him not just a valued colleague but also a good friend. Hasn’t he made clear what James’s work on the timeline leading to Chloe’s attack, and his loyalty over the last two days, has meant to him? And that he likes the lad’s company? Nonetheless, it won’t hurt to reinforce that from time to time.

An hour later, when they’re leaving, he rests his hand on the back of James’s shoulder. “Doing anything this weekend?” It’s a rare weekend off for the two of them.

James shrugs, turning to face Robbie. “Other than the usual – laundry, dry cleaning, shopping – nothing much.”

“Good. Come over on Friday. We can get a takeaway, watch something on TV or get a DVD, eh? Bring an overnight bag so you don’t have to worry about driving home. Sorry I’ve only got the sofa to offer–” 

“I’d like that. Thank you.” James looks genuinely pleased.

“An’ if you have time, maybe we can do something on Saturday or Sunday.” He shrugs. “Get out of Oxford, like.”

James grins. “I could give you a guided tour of Cambridge. About time you got to know England’s best university.”

Robbie pretends to look appalled. “As if I don’t spend enough time in a university town as it is. But if you _insist_...”

“Absolutely.” James’s droll enthusiasm makes Robbie grin. His mouth quirks up at the corners. “I’ll look forward to it. Thank you.”

“Ah, give over, man. Wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t enjoy your company.” There. That should be enough to reassure the lad.

He gets another smile in response. He’s about to say goodnight and walk to his own car, parked a few yards away, when James suddenly grins in a way that makes Robbie very suspicious. “What?”

“I was just wondering... if I were to kiss you goodnight, would you let me, not to be rude?” James’s grin widens. “And then explain very kindly tomorrow that it couldn’t happen again?”

Robbie stares, speechless. James leans in, presses a swift kiss to his parted lips, then, hands in his pockets, he strolls off to his car, calling a cheerful “Goodnight!” over his shoulder, leaving Robbie gobsmacked.

He should tell James tomorrow that it can’t happen again. Not that James is likely to do it again anyway. But... maybe he’ll just say nothing and see what happens. Maybe.


End file.
